The PreGraduate Galleonaires Brotherhood
by Mishna
Summary: Sorry about the short chapters. Just a cute little piece. A little of some ships but I think anyone would like this. I AM going to finish it no matter what, and I'm going to update after every five reviews (seems like a good system to me). Enjoy!
1. Composing Hermione

**Chapter 1: Composing Hermione**

"I'm serious. He's starting to scare me."

"I'm sure you have nothing to worry about," Ginny assured her friend. If anyone had anything to fear at all, it was Ginny herself – Hermione's hands were so tightly clutched around her own that she couldn't help but entertain thoughts of snapping bones. "You're probably overreacting. It's not like that'd be a first."

Hermione sniffled, a shaking smile fleeting across her countenance like a dying animal. Ginny smiled encouragingly, imagining the blood that would soak all twenty of their fists if Hermione were to accidentally break her fingers. She imagined bloody handprints artfully decorating Ron's bed sheets. He'd scream like a girl. Ginny had always wanted to prank the shit out of her older brother – Ron was the second most fun to mess with – but back when Harry hung out with them, she figured it was best to lie low. Her sisterly smile broadened, because Harry Potter didn't like Ron anymore; Harry had moved up in the world. Up and into Ginny's shooting range. Ha, ha.

"He hasn't eaten with us since the first week of term," Hermione continued, salty confusion streaming down both cheeks and dripping unnoticed all over her robes. "And he doesn't talk to us since we started – you know – and . . ." She tried to continue but let out a terrible sob. Ginny frowned, dabbing at her friend's robes and cheeks with her own handkerchief. Hermione was not a dramatic person by nature; it concerned her to see the girl this way. "I saw him in the hall on Friday and I called out to him. Just like, _Hey, Harry_. I didn't say anything else. It was like he looked right through me. I wish he'd be mad or at least _something_. Enough with the walking around dead thing already!"

"Hey babe," Ginny tried, lifting Hermione's chin with the intention of lifting her spirits. "It's gonna be alright. You saw this coming, remember?"

Hermione nodded gloomily. "Miles away," she choked.

"Sharp as ever," Ginny tried, but Hermione only rolled her eyes. "Remember what you said, when summer started last year? Right after we sent him off with his uncle?"

Nodding, "Turn for the worst."

"And he did. But remember what else you said?" This time she didn't prompt the blubbering witch. "_It has to get worse before it gets better_. That's what you said! This is just the bad time, hon, and you know it. Things will get better."

Hermione quieted a bit to listen. Ginny began to dab around her eyes with the handkerchief.

"He's gonna go through this creepy phase and ignore you and Ron, then he's gonna come back to you. He has to. He still trusts you, no matter what." It was true, and Ginny didn't resent it. She liked her brother and Hermione just as much as she always had; all that had changed was how she showed her affection. Then and now. She liked 'now' better. She was making Hermione feel better because she wanted to; because that was what she did. Molly Weasley's health had taken a downward plunge after Percy had left for New York City unannounced at the beginning of summer. It didn't help that his passport no longer read the name "Weasley," but "Harlow." It had been his own idea to re-Christen himself after a famous American scientist.

"He's mad about Ron and me too though," Hermione pointed out, always willing to show the carpenter his termite holes. "And I don't know who could blame him, honestly."

"Hermione," Ginny said, holding both of her shoulders in a gentle, but firm manner. She was the new mistress of the Weasley home. She took care of the boys. "Chances are, Harry's head is so far up in the clouds, he hasn't even noticed."

Hermione snorted. "He saw us, Ginny. I'm not stupid, in case you haven't noticed."

Ginny draped her arms over Hermione's shoulders and rested her own forehead against her friend's. "I promise you," she whispered, "That right now, romance isn't at the top of Harry's list."


	2. The PreGraduate Galleonaires Brotherhood

**Chapter 2: The Pre-Graduate Galleonaires Brotherhood**

One thing Ginny never would have guessed, as a naïve first year, was that Hogwarts held a secret society whose membership depended solely on financial provisions.

THE PRE-GRADUATE GALLEONAIRES BROTHERHOOD, they called themselves, and it's true that Ginny never would have guessed they existed. That is, until she received a personal invitation to join.

She had been scraping by okay, playing her cards right. Being the most obviously trustworthy (and competent) Weasley at Hogwarts, Fred and George had chosen her as their Outreach and Sales Associate, a position that granted her a fifteen percent commission on any Weasley Wizard Wheezes product she sold personally. Business had begun slowly – she was only able to send out fliers over the summer, and at the start of term had difficulty making herself known – but after her brilliant brothers remembered how to produce last year's famous fireworks, she began brining stuffed pockets back to her dormitory nearly every day.

Fred and George were delighted. They had promised her a dragon-skin dress to match their suits, but she'd politely declined. "Politely" being a grim exaggeration, almost an outright lie. Okay, they'd said, then what do you want? We want to give you something. You're our little sister, and a fan-bloody-tastic salesman. Ginny remembered grinning before writing her response: "Sales_woman_, and there actually is something I'd like. How does ten ounces of weed sound?"

Assuming she was up to something devious, the twins had begged to see how her scheme turned out, and gone ahead mailing a ridiculous amount of hashish to the castle. Like Fred assured George, no one could possibly smoke all that by themselves. And George nodded and mailed it. He and Fred were also the unofficial hallucinogen capital of the Wizarding world. They didn't sell any to Hogwarts students for the sole reason of saving their own asses from the rapidly failing Molly Weasley.

They had no idea that Ginny _did_ intend to smoke the pot; their mistake was that if she ever did, it would be alone. A month ago, however, Ginny had struck gold. She had been running business as usual when a stork-like Slytherin named Abby Greenwald asked her casually if she made a lot of cash from helping out her brothers.

Yeah, Ginny smirked, pride getting the best of her, and lied grossly about her income by two or three figures.

The next day, an owl had swooped down into her sweet potato omlette, one patch over its eye and a black scroll clutched in its unroped claw. Now she climbed to the astronomy tower every evening just before curfew, acted like a true spoiled brat until dawn, and then returned to her bed and, on occasion, her classes.

Tonight, Ginny stopped by her dormitory after sending Hermione off with cover-up covering up her blotchy complexion. The dress code was strictly black, and Ginny was out of fresh robes, so she squirmed into a medley of black . . . things. One of the socks was actually navy blue, but she figured nobody would notice. She brushed out her hair and kept it down, knowing full well she looked better that way. Mascara, plenty of eyeliner, and a single earring that shone from beneath her sheet of fire. She congratulated herself on her own brilliance.

Vivs Tourbon whistled from behind Ginny. "Rowr, girl," the (sometimes startlingly) outgoing girl grinned. "Looking hot. Lucky Dean!"

Ginny laughed. "Is it too much?"

"On you? Never."

"You're great, Vivs."

One last glance in the mirror. "He takin' you someplace special tonight or what?"

Ginny pretended to be blush, holding hands up to her cheeks. "If I told you where we were going, then I would make sure we went somewhere else."

"Alright, I get it," Vivs rolled her eyes, smacking her pina-colada-and-sparkler gum.

"See you tomorrow," Ginny purred, and trotted out of her room and down into the commons. She tried to ignore Ron and Hermione, curled up in a single armchair by the fire. She felt weird about them together. Clearly – and thankfully – it looked like Ron was doing his best to ignore her, also. She had already tried calling him a racist for protesting about Dean, but he still wanted his baby sister single. A baby forever. She and Dean smiled at one another, embraced in a rehearsed hug-and-peck, and then left the room hand-in-hand.

He was sweet, really. She might have actually dated him on her own if the chance had ever come about. However, the Master of Ceremonies at THE PRE-GRAD GALLEONAIRES BROTHERHOOD knew what he was doing, and so far no member had ever been caught. Their roommates and friends all thought that they were on a date. At intervals the MC switched up who dated who, but always making it look practical, and occasionally threw in a "static couple," two members who never changed escape partners. Ask anyone in the school – any house, any year would swear a static couple was going steady. He had no reason to fool around with his position. Not everybody in the brotherhood had to like the MC, but they had to trust that he would save their ass if he thought the brotherhood was in danger of exposure or corruption.

As a rule, an MC had to be a seventh year and must have spent at least four years in the brotherhood. Also, any one MC could only spend one school year in that position; otherwise corruption was too easy. A blue-haired Ravenclaw named Missy Bell held current office as MC, and next year's leader had already been selected: Draco Malfoy, to Ginny's bitten tongue.

The Weasley dropped Dean Thomas' hand at the ladder. Up on the tower she made her way right over to Missy, first dragging a dark purple fingernail across Harry's back: her version of "Hello."

"I brung you somethin'," Ginny slurred. The brotherhood, as a custom, spoke like rogues. That way any eavesdroppers wouldn't be able to identify the voices of usually-eloquent students.

"Yeah?" Missy had a keen, sharp chin and a smooth voice. "Like what, sis?"

They called one another "brother" or "sister," depending strictly on gender.

"A l'il ennertainment for t'night." The corner s of her lips twitched.

"That's my girl." Missy gave her a wide smile. "Show 'n' tell, kid."

Making sure Missy could see (unable, as usual, to resist showing off), Ginny pulled out her earring and set it on the ground, extracted her wand, and muttered under her breath. The earring erupted into three neat stacks of an unmistakable leaf – Missy grinned like the Devil. "Yer a sneaky l'il bi-yach," she congratulated, and Ginny hadn't felt so proud since her last bank statement.

She flipped Missy a sly slide of her pinkie across her own forehead, quite possibly the most obscene gesture any witch could make to another one. Missy bit in her direction, teeth snapping shut on air, and then shouted over for a couple of younger Gryffindors to give her a hand rolling up joints.

Harry was brooding, his legs dangling over the tower's wall (a major no-no of the brotherhood), a thin cigarette in his left hand and a cup of fire whisky in the other. The brotherhood always had fire whisky. Ginny sat down inches from him, swinging her freckled legs over the side along with him, and he did a bad job at covering up the fact that her sudden movement had made him jump nearly a foot in the air. He looked great, she thought. To Hell with what she told everyone – she'd never given up on Harry, and the more intelligent half of the world knew it. The most intelligent ones knew not to say anything.

Rugged, she thought, is the word for him now. Kinda fierce, like a wild animal, and like everyone else at school she knew he had taken to pulling a wand on just about anyone he thought posed a threat. He had become unrecognizable – black hair now matched by black eyeliner and no glasses (he hadn't gotten contacts, simply refused to care about his vision). Ginny thought it brought out his eyes wonderfully. He had only worn black since Sirus' disappearance (like Harry, Ginny adamantly refused to refer to it as "death"), and his appearance now intimidated the younger students, as he had grown several inches to boot. Apparently, even Professor Flitwick had asked Seamus to hand Harry his broken vase shards last week, instead of approaching Harry himself. It was true, he had a darker look, but Ginny liked it. She liked Harry no matter what look he took on.

She would like Harry if he had purple snakes crawling out of his ears and glared at her each time she touched him. She was completely, one hundred percent, absolutely fucking head over heels for the guy. And, he knew it. She had told him three days ago.

He had barely blinked, the goddamn ghost. And after she had gotten up the nerve to spill her guts! She hadn't been able to take it any longer, and wanted to be able to hit on him without wondering if it wasn't girly enough. But Harry lived as little more than a shadow, and took hardly any notice. It was as if a Dementor had hunted him down and sucked his soul out through a gashed throat. As if NormalHarry had taken an extended vacation and left a volatile, bitter GothHarry in his place. Hermione was right: Harry had become somewhat frightening lately. Even Ginny would admit that. She missed his smile.

The Abercrombie kid came around passing out the joints, and Ginny took two, holding one out for Harry. He didn't seem to care enough to take it. "You'll like it," she promised. She had only tried once – having snuck into Charlie's suitcase over the summer. Her mother had pitched a fit, which was tragically all Ginny had ever recalled of the experience. "Harry," she coaxed.

He took a sip of the fire whisky, made a gasping sound, and set down the cup. She 'accidentally' knocked it off the tower, but he didn't really care.

"Here," she finally snapped, and ripped the cigarette from his fingers, putting it out on the brick. She lit up both joints and replaced his death stick with a much friendlier roll of the best grass in the Wizarding world. He turned to face her and smiled, eyebrows raised.

"Harry," she warned, "You're making my stomach cartwheel."

He laughed hollowly and looked out into the night again, taking a drag on the joint. "Molly mailed me," he said, "and you're failing everything."

"Hard to pass when your desk's empty," Ginny smiled.

"Getting stoned?"

"Sleeping."

He laughed again, and it unnerved her.

"I got a Howler, if it makes you feel any better."

"Ouch." He cringed.

She was just like a child again, next to him like this. It amused him. It may have made her feel silly, but it made him feel pretty good. Not much made him feel good these days. Maybe he was famous enough that he could watch a classmate and – he hoped – friend's murder and still feel basically normal inside, but no teenager could possibly be so well-loved, so fabulous at flying, or so talented at even a single class that being responsible for their closest adult's demise didn't change everything. He wasn't _that_ great, no matter what Ron's sister might think.

A shriek rose from the opposite side of the tower: Missy Bell, beaming at the stars, spinning like a top on her bare tiptoes. Everyone else stared to watch the dizzying dance, but who could tear their eyes away from that face and such an enthralling smile? Her eyes cinched tight but the grin never faded and even when she stumbled, it was beautiful. Harry allowed himself a sidelong glance at Cho Chang, his 'girlfriend' for purposes of the brotherhood. She wasn't spinning, although now several girls had joined in. What a pill, he thought, and dazedly noticed his joint had burned half-away already. He grinned and went back to watching Missy Bell.

Harry found himself standing. He swayed gently over to Missy and she stopped long enough to grab his wrists, command him to grab hers, and then begin spinning again. They went around in circles and she kept her eyes closed tight, seeing rainbows and valleys and dragons, while Harry spun and stared transfixed at her soft cheeks, her shining white teeth, her flying cyan hair. He must have spaced out, because when felt himself hear again, Missy Bell was ecstatic and kissing words at him: _Let go of me! Let go of me!_ Her fingers had already released, and so with a flourish he spun her off into the crowd and flew backwards, hitting the stone with a _crack_ on the opposite side of the tower.

Ginny, giggling and stunning, ran over and jumped at Harry, landing neatly in a sprawled-out bundle across his lap, knees jabbing him in the gut. Their bodies made an X. He let out a low chuckle and she lay on her back, tipping her joint up to the stars and inhaling. "If you hold it in your lungs for a while like this," she demonstrated, coming back coughing and laughing hysterically, "It works really good."

Harry wanted to say something, but was thinking about Missy's hair. Once she graduated, there wouldn't remain any students with dyed hair – a pity, in Harry's eyes. He ought to die his own blue, just to show her the tradition would continue on. He was immensely glad Malfoy didn't come on Wednesdays – he had a mysterious (meaning, unknown to everyone except Ginny and Harry) meeting once a week which he simply couldn't miss. Malfoy would have loved to pick on a Harry who couldn't hold a wand straight.

Ginny rolled back onto her stomach and crawled onto his chest. He tried to look at the sky as a distraction. "I love you, Harry." Damn, she said it again. He'd been hoping she hadn't meant it last time. "Ginny," he muttered, and tried to push her away. "I love you," she repeated, then giggled again and began to chew at her hair.

"Brilliant!" the clear, high voice of Missy Bell cheered from above Harry. Uh-oh, he thought. "Oh my fucking Merlin," she laughed, then dug hot pink fingernails into her hair, grabbed a handful in each fist, and began to jump up and down, screaming happily at the heavens.

Harry began to look for a way out – under the convenient bridge provided by Missy's stick-like legs? – when he heard the words he really didn't want to hear again: "I love you, Harry."

"Malfoy's been single," Missy announced, "He's dating Chang now, and Thomas in a fight over Gin-Gin with none other than the famous Harry Potter!" The MC cackled at her own genius and ran off to record the information and inform the three unlucky innocents.

Author's note: Thanks for the reviews; I guess I'll keep doing the same thing after I get five again. Hope you liked it!


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